


you're toxic, i'm slipping under

by capncrunchy



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Cheap wine, Drunk Confessionals, F/M, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of PTSD, Steve POV, Steve Rogers Father is a Mean Man, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, its brief, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capncrunchy/pseuds/capncrunchy
Summary: After years and years of being told what a man should be, these ideals come crashing down when Steve meets a sassy, no bullshit bartender.





	you're toxic, i'm slipping under

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a creative writing class, and def had Steve and Natasha in mind, but I was forced to change the names to protect myself... lol. Here is the story in its PROPER form.

“You drink anymore and I’m going to have to cut you off.” My head whipped up from my drink to find the source of the voice. Standing before me was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She wore a subtle smile on her lips that could light up the dark and dingy bar. I truly was at a loss for words, staring into her azure eyes, framed with smoky eyeshadow and impeccable winged, black eyeliner.

  
“Um, hello? Earth to Mr. Leather Jacket. Damn, you really must be blitzed,” she said with a laugh.

  
“Oh, uh sorry, I was uh just lost in thought,” I said, completely stumbling over my words, “You uh, you uh you’re really -- can I buy you a drink?” Smooth move. The first girl that gives you the time of day and you act like an incompetent prepubescent boy. She huffs out a soft laugh as if she were crawling into the depths of my internal monologue. Thankfully, she seemed to take pity on me.

  
“Well technically I’m not supposed to drink on the job, but I do get off in thirty minutes, so if you want to wait for me, be my guest,” she proposed, turning away from me with that same, mysterious smile on her red lips. I was completely dumbstruck. Did that really just happen? I smiled into my beer as I patiently wait for her shift to be up.

  
Thirty minutes later, I was shaken once again from my thoughts as another body drops themselves into the seat next to mine, spilling some of their drink in the process. 

  
“Damn, my shift could not end fast enough. You don’t know how many drunken lunatics I have to throw out of the bar every night. Anyway, looks like you waited up. The names Natasha, what about you?” She spoke to me as if we have been old friends for years. It reminds me of Bucky -- no I can’t think about that. I shake my head of the intruding thought and look up.

  
“Oh, uh Steve, my name is Steve,” I stutter out. I have never had issues speaking to new people, but this girl sitting beside me is any fifteen-year-old boy’s wet dream, so I’ll chalk up my inability to speak due to my repressed teenage hormones.

  
“Well then, ‘uh Steve,’ what do you say we get out of here?” Natasha said with a flirtatious wink, downing her drink and grabbing my hand to pull me up with her. Speechless, I dumbly shake my head in agreement as I follow her out of the bar.

  
\---

  
For the next few hours, Natasha and I explored the city, as she claimed she would show me the “hottest” places in New York City. Our first stop--a shady bodega--where Natasha scored a bottle of offensively cheap bottle of Riesling.

  
“Well, it’s definitely not the best wine, but it’s what got me through a couple of exam weeks in college and I’m not one for the glitz and glam stuff anyways,” Natasha teased, handing over a ten to the cashier.

  
From there, she led me to an apartment complex, though instead of heading for the elevator, she pulls me to the staircase.

 

“We’re going to the penthouse, baby,” she says with a laugh. This “penthouse,” however, happened to be the roof of the building.

  
“Uh… is this allowed?” I stutter, as I watch in horror as Natasha attempts to break open the door’s lock.

  
“What,” she raised her eyebrows and smirks finally breaking the door’s latch, “Are you afraid of a little danger, big man?” Slightly afraid to back down from her enticing challenge, I followed her on to the roof. My previous anxieties seemed to fade when I noted how beautiful the city looked from this high up, there were so many colors and movement, quite different from the endless sand and muted colors of Iraq that I had grown so accustomed.

  
We sat side by side on the roof, passing the bottle between the two of us--it really was horrible wine, but the conversation flowed so effortlessly that I couldn’t bring myself to care. Natasha turned to look at me, seemingly taking all of me in, her eyes stopped at my hat--the one that declared where I had served.

  
“Wait, are you in the military?” Natasha seemed slightly surprised.

  
“Yeah, I actually got back from my second tour about four months ago,” As soon as I said it, I regretted how unsure and unconfident I probably sounded--the complete opposite of the poster-child for the Army.

  
“Damn, one of my friends from high school served for a little while, and he came back really fucked up. So, I can’t image what it must’ve been like for you,” she quickly backtracked, with an embarrassed scowl, “Oh, that probably sounded so offensive, I didn’t mean to imply you were fucked up or anything.”  
I shook my head, trying to soothe her worries, “No, no! I mean, it was pretty rough over there.”

  
Natasha leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder, “Come on, I know we just met, but you don’t have to sugarcoat the truth for me, I’m a big girl.”

  
“Well, I guess I did really hate it,” she looked at me with a soft but interested expression, as if urging me to continue, “I never felt like I fit in with my platoon, wasn’t ‘macho’ enough for them or whatever. And, ugh, so much fucking sand… like you wouldn’t believe,” I say trying to lighten the mood. As soon as I said it, I immediately regretted it, probably sounding like such a pussy--she was going to see right through my facade, and uncover the scared little boy trapped inside of me. But, when I caught her eyes, she was looking at me with nothing but complete openness.

  
“Thank you for sharing that with me, I know that probably wasn’t easy to tell to some bar floozy.” Her voice was coated in obvious sarcasm.

  
I let out a surprised laugh, “You are NOT a floozy.” Suddenly, we were both overcome with a fit of laughter, as if the hilarity of this odd situation we found ourselves in was finally catching up to the both of us. When our laughter finally died down, Natasha turned into my arms and began to trace my jaw softly, and she whispered, “Can I kiss you?” I nodded, damn should I have asked her that? But this fear was immediately subsided by the passionate kiss we shared.

  
\---

  
From that moment onwards, our relationship seemed to grow at rapid pace and we moved in together after several months of knowing each other. I quickly learned all of Natasha’s quirks, like how she wants to be a makeup artist and how she grew up moving all around the country because her parents could never settle in one place for a long period of time. With all this knowledge about Natasha, you’d think she’d equally know as much about me, right? Wrong. Although she often attempted to pry anything about my childhood and upbringing, I spoke minimally about it. Why dig up memories you would rather repress for the rest of your life?

  
Engulfed in my army paperwork, I knew I was trouble when Natasha crept into my office with a sly smile on her face.

  
“What do you want,” I said, drawing out my last word in good humor. Natasha quietly laughed but didn’t let up her innocent act.

  
“It’s just, you have been working so hard these past weeks and I want to do something fun,” she says trying not to meet my eye contact. I raised my eyebrows questioningly, causing her to break the innocent facade. She sighed and continued determinedly, “All the girls and their boyfriends are going bar hopping tonight and they all really want to meet you and I kind of promised them that you would be there tonight as well, but I completely understand if you don’t want to go because of all the work you have to do for your unit, but it would be really—”

  
“It’s okay we can go, I don’t mind. I have been overworking myself,” I said, effectively cutting off her stream of speech. Her pleading eyes met mine and she surprised me by reeling me into a hug. I awkwardly pat her back, not use to physical contact in such a gentle way. My father had ripped me from my mother’s arms after I had fallen off my bike. Boys don’t cry, boys don’t cry, boys don’t cry, boys don’t – stop, don’t think about that.

  
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can’t wait to tell the girls, they are going to be so excited! I have to find something to wear,” her voice fading as she exited the room, completely lost in thought and forgetting our previous conversation. I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. What have I gotten myself into?

  
\---

  
“You didn’t tell me we were going to a drag bar,” I whispered, semi-furiously to Natasha. Sadly, she was already too drunk to pick up on my soured mood.  
“What are you talking about?” She said slurring her words, “this is fun! Come on, let’s get closer to the stage,” she shouts over the blaring music and grabs my hand, pulling me into the chaos. All rebuttals died on my tongue, as the bar completely swallowed us whole.

  
The stage lights turned on abruptly, shrouding the stage in a pink, shimmering glow. A tall figure is thrust into the spotlight, clad in a pink tight-fitting, sequin dress, their face is framed with a sharp contour and impeccably applied make-up. This person was absolutely stunning, beautiful--seemingly exuding unshakable confidence. The queen addressed the crowd, revealing a deep, booming voice, maybe even deeper than my own, that I was reminded this beautiful person was a man. God what would my father say if he saw me here? ‘Men are supposed to be strong, manly, leaders, not pansy faggots sucking dick for a buck’. I can’t be here.

  
An upbeat backtrack begins to play, and the queen immediately sprung into an energetic routine. My heartbeat seems to match the pulsing of the bass, yet I try to push the intruding thoughts out of my head and focus on Natasha. The queen descended the stage and enters the crowd, thrusting dollar bills into her padded bra. She locked eye contact with me and beckoned me toward her. Somehow, I found myself pushed into a chair on stage, the queen circling me as if I were her prey. The beat changed quickly as a sensual song starts to play, and the queen grasps me by the shoulders. As the queen thrusts down into my lap, my daze breaks and I feel as if I am paralyzed. I don’t ever want to catch you with that fag again. I’m done with this pansy bullshit, you’re enlisting. No son of mine will be seen crying like a bitch.

  
I quickly move to stand, effectively pushing the queen off of me. The mantra be a man, courses through my head as I quickly stumbled off the stage and out of the bar, ignoring onlookers confused stares and Natasha’s shouts. My heart was beating so fast, it feels as if it might burst forth from my ribcage, as I staggered against the curb, trying desperately to catch my breath.

  
“What the hell was that in there? I thought you were having fun! You could’ve hurt that poor girl up there,” Natasha shrieked, completely shocked. Unaware that she had followed me out of the bar, I whipped my head around and stumbled away.

  
“I’m…I’m not into dudes,” I whisper pathetically. Natasha stares at me with confusion written across her face.

  
“Dude, no one is saying you’re into guys! I didn’t realize you were homophobic. It was just a bit of fun, it wasn’t –”

  
“It wasn’t ‘just a bit of fun!’ Imagine if my father saw here? Huh? He would murder me. He would beat me until there was an inch of life left! He’s done it before, so he’ll do it again! How do you think I got this scar,” I gestured towards the indent on my forehead, “I was caught ‘getting too close’ with my friend Buck and my dad went ballistic and slammed me into the wall! I was unconscious for three hours covered in my own blood and when I finally came too he forced me to clean myself up!” I shouted frantically, unaware I had just revealed my biggest secret. Natasha just stared at me with her mouth agape. Great, now she thinks you’re repulsive.

  
“Wow. Oh my God, that’s so disgusting. I didn’t know that. Oh my God,” Natasha is obviously unsure how to react to the information I just expelled. “You know,” she begins cautiously, unsure as to how I’m react, “what your father did to you was awful, but you don’t have to be the ‘perfect man’ just because he says so. Times have changed, gender stereotypes are basically a thing of the past!”

  
“You don’t understand, I was raised on these ‘gender stereotypes’! They were ingrained into my head from the moment I could comprehend! If my father saw me as anything less than, he would disown me,” I try to explain.

  
“I understand that,” Natasha said calming, understanding it’s not that simple to rework years of backwards thinking. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to act like someone you’re not anymore. Not around me. Not around anyone. Your life is your own. Not your father’s.” That statement was like a hammer, effectively breaking my walls.

  
“I’m just tired. I’m so tired,” I whisper, closing my eyes as I feel tears begin to well. Natasha quickly gathers me in her arms. What a sight we must have been, a 200-pound man being cradled by a small framed woman.

  
“Hey it’s okay. It’s okay. We will get through this. You’re not alone. You’ve got me.”

  
I looked up at her, through blurry eyes, “Do -- do you really mean that? You deserve so much more than me, you deserve someone that’s going to treat you like a real man should!”

  
She smiled at me and forced me to look her in the eyes, “Babe, I know you know me better than that! I see you for so much more than the roles that this society has forced you into. I don’t want a real man, like that--all aggressive and unfeeling. Because to me, you are so much better than any stereotypical “real man.” You’re incredibly smart, caring, and make me laugh more than any other person in this damn city. I never want you to be something you’re not, because I love you exactly for you.”

  
As I took in her endearing speech, my heart was filled with so much happiness, and I could feel the lessons that my father engrained slowly beginning to unravel, though I knew it was only the beginning of this journey. “Thank you, Natasha, that’s the most genuine thing anyone has ever said to me. God, I’m so lucky to have you,” but then something else she said caught my attention, “Wait… you love me?”

  
“Of course, stupid!” She laughed, but then her face turned serious, “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready.”

  
“What? You crazy idiot,” I chuckled, pressing our foreheads together, “Of course, I love you.”

  
“Oh, thank god,” she gasped, letting out a heavy breath, “Okay, stop being a pussy and kiss me, big boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Want a sequel? Leave kudos and comments my babes.


End file.
